she wasn’t there

yet, but

that she could even be on this

journey was a privilege

in and of itself, she wished

she could pull that

perspective out of her pocket

please for the times she just wanted

to sleep | in the forest | in the hellish dark

 

she knew where she wanted to go

now from a strong and quiet

lake in her heart it wasn’t

screaming

at her anymore because she

had cupped her ear to it, allowed it to exist in the

openness she let herself climb her own

steep

soul. it gave her stillness. she hoped for moonlight.

In Favor of Bravery

Bravery felt like…

agony, for the longest time.

like a jostling of waves in a water-balloon-of-a-heart,

holding a shipwreck, exploding, contained only by the pale pink latex of its walls.

It felt like spiraling into a bad dream you choose,

on a pillow case overstuffed with doubt,

and waking up to find like a cat,

it was sitting there — on your face — every morning,

for a year.

It felt like running to the window with stubborn persistence,

to find the sun –

perpetually dressed, in a black cloak.

“It was chic,” he said. “It was magic,”

he laughed.

It felt like opening the door to find that you’re not much starter than he,

you left the house in a scratchy thick sweater,

made of butter,

in July.

It honestly felt like…

everyone in the “world” was doing the “normal” thing,

except you.

I(t) felt like, giving up, like coming up short.

It was an argument. A fight.

It felt like this, in fact — until it didn’t.

When I realized “normal” was black and white,

and I wanted to go chase the rainbow.

And then. Ha. And then…

it felt like the breaking of dawn.

Like the fullest breath I’ve ever dared to take, again and again.

Like walking to the ocean. Like taking a hike.

And then… I felt like doing it again.

teetering

between hopelessly hopeless and infinitely infinite. 

rewriting the same story over and over again.

the same thought swimming around in your mind,

“hey, i think i’ve seen that tree before.”

looking back to see 

you’ve been forever stretched, like a gum of rope,

from one end to another,

weathering a great and beautiful expanse – 

for what?

it is yet to be seen.

the state of (in)between

the process. the practice. the journey.

we think of it in agony. sometimes. often. panic/excitement/anguish.

we forget that it is…

the art of making. of baking pies (blueberry). the anticipation of sweet reward. that which makes making so sweet. and sour.

but have hope. take courage. squeeze out every bit of confidence. because once it has passed. it is only memory.